Not quite a Fairy's Tale
by Fey Halfkin
Summary: AU "There are stories of humans stealing lives by trickery. By taking our 'skins' they gain our obedience." It isnt' always as simple as fairy tales claim when Relena brings Quatre into the supernatural world she's stumbled on.


He could feel the wind and waves speaking of a storm coming. They blew and lapped against him as he lay upon the nearly submerged rock, waiting. Already a good breeze was sending the water to dash across the rocky shore to mist inland like rain: perfect weather to meet an old friend. Patience well learned allowed him to merely live each moment in an inner calm that enjoyed the winds and waves pushing against him. Only half of his tail, still submerged, felt the tug of current sway.  
  
It wasn't long before green eyes spied the approaching figure on land coming toward the rocky shore. The confident stride didn't slow on uncertain terrain as it once had. He noted the change from where he lay upon the submerged rock before he propped himself up to allow the other a better view of him among the water clash and sea mist. Dark, short hair nodded from a closing distance as the figure approached upon bare feet. Swift was the other to reach where land and sea touched, although he remained to the side of the waves. For a moment the two simply watched the other without moving. Green eyes locked on haunted blue, and his tail flex a little in sympathy.  
  
Then the Sea-trow smiled. It was greeted by a faint smirk from the human youth, who made no attempt to speech in the din of the waves. Tides uncounted let them exchange thoughts without words. Besides, neither wanted to alert any of the fisher-folk and lose what little time they had.  
  
The sea-trow sized the boy with an appraising gaze: the boy held steady even when sea mist blew hard against him.  
  
Satisfied the sea-trow pushed himself back to sit directly: the boy shrugged as if to say he hardly expected less then good health before a slight questioning frown.  
  
Quickly the sea-trow shook his head, happy to report no news of death. The motion cleared some of the worry in the blue eyes before him.  
  
He pointed to the youth who also shook his head in curt disappointment. A cruel given since the youth didn't join him, but it was the progress he was trying to gauge. Still, his friend wasn't about to give up his search.  
  
A questioning look with a hand sweep that included the water around him made his friend turn his sight to the ocean. Blue eyes latched onto the sea, grown distant and troubled. It answered the question of dreams.  
  
There were only two methods to deal with his friend's dreams until he found it: riding his spirited mount without watching eyes, and music. Since he could hardly turn his tail into a centaur body the sea-trow settled for retrieving his prized sound shell. The spiral was hollow, and holes lined the spine of the seashell to give an almost fey-like flute pitch to his expert fingers. Not that his blue-eyed friend noticed from his own waking dreaming when the shell was lifted up. Green eyes watched as the soft song slowly lifted some of the haunting hues in his friend before closing them to enjoy the melody he played.  
  
The musical sanctuary was broken when the land-bound youth abruptly turned his head to look over his shoulder. The movement alerted the merman into letting his tune trail off, blend with the noise of rock meeting sea, even as he started to slide back towards the water. Time had gone from 'short' to 'gone' it seemed. Without acknowledging the other, each of the two friends moved: the half-man/half-fish back to his watery home; the youth to intercept what had disturbed him. Evening was settling deep blue by winter bringing early night among the fishing community so far from home.  
  
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Author's Note: Sea-trow is another name for the Shetlands mermaid. Ones able to take off their animal skin and walk on land like humans. It sounds close to the Silkie myth, even to acquiring wives by the stealing of their 'skins'. Some mermaids were thought to cause storms with their tails by slapping the water surface.  
  
This was written in response to an online contest challenge. 


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